


Out On The Stone and Grass

by moderatelybowling



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Multi, Past Child Abuse, Sickfic, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 09:39:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10851336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moderatelybowling/pseuds/moderatelybowling
Summary: Two professors and their student walk into a bar.(aka the AU that no one asked for where Jim and Oswald are Ed's professors, but that you're getting anyway)





	Out On The Stone and Grass

**Author's Note:**

> Ed's 19 and Jim and Oswald are both 27 in this, so if thats not you're Thing id say this probably isnt the fic for you

Ed usually doesn’t drink much, memories of the smell of alcohol on his father’s breath and the pain of knuckles and belts on his skin keeping him away from even the most casual drinks. 

Tonight was different, though. He had only gotten about four hours of sleep the previous night because of music pounding through his dorm, done abysmally on a chemistry quiz because of his exhaustion, and had a customer accidentally scald his hand with coffee during his shift at the café. To top it all off, when when he had finally made it back to his dorm room, only wanting a warm cup of tea and to zone out playing video games for a few hours, he had found a sock on the doorknob. An actual _sock,_ as if he was living in some poorly-made 80s movie.

So that’s how Ed ended up wandering around the campus, and eventually around the town outside of campus, and then finally through the doors of a bar, the neon lights and heat of the patrons welcoming after the damp drizzling rain of the night.

The bartender doesn’t bat an eye when he flashes his ID, even they both know it’s a fake. He just pushes a pint over to Ed, the drink inside sloshing a little over the rim and soaking the cuff of Ed’s shirt. Usually he’d care, but again, he’s not feeling his best tonight. All he wants to do is warm up, to feel the comforting haze alcohol brings to his normally hyperactive mind.

Three drinks later and he has exactly what he wanted. Ed’s always been a lightweight, his skinny frame and distaste for alcohol not helping him in the least. At least he feels better now, his head fuzzy and his fingertips warm where they rest against the sticky wood of the bar. He’s just about to slide off of his barstool and start heading home when he feels a large hand clamp on his shoulder, just a little too hard for its owner to be sober.

He spins around only to meet the baby blue eyes of Professor fucking Gordon, the man who had driven him crazy for the entirety of the last semester in his Psychology of War class. Crazy in a good way though, like when he would smile or laugh or even just look at Ed, and Ed would get these weird butterflies and forget how to talk for a minute. That kind of crazy.

Back in the present, Gordon’s greeting Ed with a happy cry of his name and tugging him off his stool by his arm, dragging him over to the corner of the bar while he blathers on about buying Ed a drink and catching up and god, Ed, I haven’t seen you since the final!

Ed has practically no clue what’s happening, just letting Gordon drag him around, his feet fumbling under him. Finally he’s pushed down into a circular booth, his shoulder bumping into someone as Gordon drops down across from him. He turns to see who it is, only to see his _current_ professor looking back at him. Professor Oswald Cobblepot, expert in Jewish Literature, looking somehow both cute _and_ hot in continental ties, and making Ed blush literally every time they spoke to each other. He’s pretty sure he’s blushing _now_ , looking at the pretty flush of his professor’s cheeks, the result of one too many drinks.

He greets him with a happy-sounding “Hi, Ed!”, prompting Ed to stutter out some kind of garbled-as-hell greeting as their shoulders brush again. He’s never seen Cobblepot this dressed-down, a simple button down shirt and vest replacing his usual suits (which he somehow pulls off, even though they make him look like he should be teaching at a 1950s prep school, not a high-ranking university).

Gordon’s even more dressed down, Ed distracted by the way his t-shirt shows off his biceps when he leans forward over the table, smiling at Ed as he talks and oh _shit_ Ed has absolutely no idea what he just said.

“Sorry, what?

“I said that me and Oswald saw you over there, and we’ve both talked about how you’re one our favorite students so we thought we’d invite you over. Because we both like you. And you’re here.” His words slur a bit, but Gordon seems happy, his expression more relaxed than Ed has ever seen it. Meanwhile, Ed feels his face go up in flames at the praise, feelings himself fall even harder for his professor. Ed's always been a sucker for any kind of praise or affection he can get, his subconscious desperate to make up the approval he had never gotten as a kid.

“I’m one of your favorite students?” He would have never asked the question sober, not wanting to make it seem like he's looking for praise. Drunk though, he can't help but try to get anything he can, words of affection making him feel even warmer than the alcohol does.

Cobblepot juts into the conversation at that, staring wide-eyed at Ed as he answers. “Of course! You always have such interesting things to add to discussions, and you’re never rowdy in class, and that last paper you wrote was just absolutely _fantastic_ , Ed, so few people pick up on that aspect of “Howl”, I was so glad when y-“

“Oswald, don’t start, I’m too drunk to talk about the poetics of repressed homosexuality.” Gordon cuts him off, but he’s laughing a little as he says it, and even through the haze of alcohol Ed can tell there’s something there between his two professors, with the fond way Gordon is looking at Cobblepot and the adoring look that he’s giving back.

“Are you two like, a thing?”

Before he can realize it’s probably not such a great idea he’s blurting out the question, his need to _know_ combining with his lack of inhibitions in a deadly cocktail of why-the-fuck-would-you- _ask_ -that-Ed.

Luckily for him his professors’ inhibitions seem to have taken a bit of a vacation too, because Cobblepot just giggles a little and keeps looking at Gordon while Gordon just nods earnestly.

“The University knows, we just keep it quiet. We’re both so young that we’re just lucky that the University actually took us on, neither of us are going to get tenure for a long time. So we’re quiet about it.” Gordon’s smile is a little sad now, but he brightens quickly when Ed starts talking again.

“Oh, well I’m glad that you two are happy. That’s nice. That you’re happy.”

“You could be happy, too. With us.” Ed watches as Cobblepot slaps his hand over his mouth, eyes wide at what he’s said.

“W-What?”

Gordon jumps in, words even more jumbled, his nervousness evident. “He- uh. He didn’t mean that, well, I mean- you know how, uh.” His words peter out, giving Ed a look that seems like it’s trying to convey a lot of things, but Ed’s just too warm and fuzzy to figure it out, turning to look at Cobblepot, who still has his hands clamped over his own mouth. Somewhere in the back of his mind he notes that his pupils are dilated. And then he’s noting it somewhere in the front of his mind, where he can actually realize what that probably means when you take into account what Cobblepot had said.

“Do you mean that you like. Wanna fuck me? Both of you?”

Gordon’s fumbling to make excuses again, but Cobblepot still just stares at him, and then slowly, like he can’t believe what he’s doing, he nods. Ed relaxes then, glad that he knows what’s going on finally. He knows that he’d usually be having some kind of existential-crisis-panic-attack hybrid at the knowledge that not one, but _both_ of his crushes (who are 1. his professors 2. his professors who are apparently in a long-term, committed relationship) want to have sex with him, but again, it’s just been a really weird night for Ed.

“Okay. I can do that. I’m into that.” Gordon chokes at his answer, and Cobblepot makes a weird kind of squeak, but Ed just keeps nodding to himself. “Yeah. I’m definitely into that.”

Both of them look like they have no idea what to do now that they’ve gotten this far, and Ed sure as well doesn’t either, but this is probably the only shot he’s going to get to make literally _every one_ of his wet dreams come true, and he’ll be damned if he’s going to miss it. So he stands up from the booth, looking at them both expectantly when they just stare at him. He raises an eyebrow and jerks his head in the direction of the back door, feeling a kind of pride in himself well up when they both simultaneously scramble to follow him. He can totally do this.

///

Fifteen minutes later he’s in the bench seat of Jim Gordon’s Chevy with Cobblepot straddling his lap and Gordon kissing down his neck, and he was absolutely wrong.

Cobblepot grinds down, and Gordon bites at his collarbone, and they’re not even undressed yet and there’s no way Ed can do this. He’d going to die, and his death certificate is going to list “Academia Gone Wrong” as his cause of death, because there is no way in hell he’s going to survive his Jewish Lit professor panting in his ear while his Psychology of War professor gives him a line of hickeys that he absolutely won’t be able to cover up. He’s not even sure if _wants_ to survive this.

Gordon moans against his throat, and Cobblepot whines out a breathy “ _fuck”_ , and he’s really not sure there’s a better way to go.

///

There’s an alarm going off somewhere, and it sounds like an atomic goddamn bomb going off inside of Ed’s skull. He groans ad rolls over to the left, ignoring the gruff sound of swearing to his right as he snuggles into something soft and warm that just smells _really_ good, and then he’s asleep again, completely unaware of the dual looks of horror that are being shared over his head.

///

Oswald has no fucking clue what to do. He’s got a nineteen-year-old clinging to him like an octopus, a goddamn _student_ in his _bed._ A student that he had done things he doesn’t even want to _think_ about only hours before, him and Jim both too drunk to really care about what a bad idea it was. He silently wishes that he was a time-traveler, just so he could go back to that day months ago when him and Jim had a conversation about Edward Nygma, and how _smart_ he was, how _refreshing_ it was to have such a bright mind in their class, how _cute_ it was when he blushed, dual crushes on his professors. He would go straight back to that moment, and he would slap both him _and_ Jim upside the head for being so goddamn stupid.

Jim had left the apartment a few minutes ago, mouthing a silent “love you” to Oswald and throwing him a sympathetic look as he slipped out the bedroom door, straightening his tie as he rushed out to make it to his class on time. Oswald supposes it’s for the best that he be the one to deal with the situation anyway— he’s always been better with words than Jim.

He looks down at Ed, sighing as he runs fingers through the curls of his hair. He’d been absolutely _delighted_ last night to discover that his hair was naturally curly, the product in his hair finally giving up it’s losing battle somewhere around round three. He blushes at the memory of how Ed had moaned when he tugged on them, but he doesn’t stop the movement of his fingers.

He finally gets up the nerve to try and shake him awake, gently pushing at his shoulder.

“Ed? It’s almost noon. You should wake up.” All he gets in reply is a low groan as Ed wraps himself even tighter around him. Then there’s a little contented huff, and Ed’s body goes lax again. Oswald bites his lip, wondering if he should try again. He gazes down at the soft expression on Ed’s face, at the way one of his hands is laying open on Oswald’s chest, the other tucked under his hip. He thinks of the horrible hangover Ed must have right now, how horribly sick he had felt during his own college years after even just a few drinks.

He finally just relaxes back against the pillows again, content to let Ed sleep for a while longer.

///

In the end Oswald lets Ed sleep a _lot_ longer, because when he finally wakes up they’re both horrified to learn that Ed has somehow caught a cold, his head pounding and his throat aching. He whimpers out something about the rain last night and a lack of sleep, and Oswald knows that his old plan of just casually thanking Ed for a very nice time and sending him on his way definitely wasn’t going to work anymore, since the kid barely has the energy to sit up in bed, let alone get back to campus on his own.

So that’s how he finds himself handing homemade soup to a sick student in his own bed, his traitor of a heart stuttering at the weak smile Ed offers him as he takes it.

That’s also how he finds himself stretched out on top of the sheets, grading papers while Ed thumbs through a ragged book of Heine, pausing occasionally to ask Oswald about a particular note he had scribbled in the margins, genuinely interested.

And how he finds himself dozing off a bit, tangled back up with Ed, not having been able to resist the pathetic look Ed gave him when he reached out, just wanting some kind of comfort while he sleeps. Somehow, despite the scars he had seen on his back the previous night, trusting Oswald to give it to him.

///

The daylight has just started to die when Jim gets home, shedding his jacket over a kitchen chair and losing his tie. He calls out to Oswald, surprised when he doesn’t get a response. Oswald doesn’t have any classes on Fridays, and he’s usually home to greet Jim, all puppy dog eyes and sweet smiles like they’re still fumbling kids, not college professors who’ve been in a relationship for almost a decade.

His confusion is cleared up when he wanders into the bedroom, the sight before him telling him everything he needs to know about how Oswald’s day had gone. 

There’s cold medicine on the bedside table, the waste basket is overflowing with tissues, and Oswald is laying on their bed, a lanky, curly-haired nineteen-year-old asleep next to him and clinging to him like he’s his last hope at survival. That explains why there’s a pot of Oswald’s mother’s recipe for chicken soup in the kitchen, at least.

Jim looks pointedly at Oswald and then at Ed, knowing that Oswald doesn’t want to wake him up, trying to convey a general question of “what the fuck?” without actually speaking.

Jim roughly translates Oswald’s return look to “I don’t know, it just kind of happened.” He doesn’t miss the way that Oswald pulls Ed a little closer, a minute movement that speaks volumes. Jim _knows_ the look that Oswald’s giving Ed, his eyes soft and affectionate. He always was quick to fall, and he always falls hard.

Jim just sighs and shakes his head a little, knowing that there’s no way out of this now. And thinking about the way Ed’s curled up in his bed, the way he had laughed last night, how he looks now sleeping in a borrowed pair of Jim’s pajamas, he doesn’t know if he really wants out all that soon.

They are _so_ monumentally fucked, but Jim can’t really bring himself to care.

**Author's Note:**

> i have no excuse, so im not gonna try to make one lmao  
> half the credit for this goes to my friend ruth for screaming about this au w/ me for like a week straight  
> thanks for reading!


End file.
